Last Waltz
by AdemaTrivium
Summary: It's almost melancholic the way they dance around each other, sometimes it's almost comical, but they find it to be always tragic. It's a strange waltz.
1. Chapter 1

Hey there! So here it is, my new work.

I really tried to translate how I see Ino and Shikamaru (and their friendship) and I think I'm satisfied. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto

* * *

He stands before her, his stance flanking on boredom but she knows better: she sees the small glints of sweat sliding down his forehead, the slight strain on the hard line of his shoulders and a rarely present glint in his eyes that she recognizes as acceptance of the challenge she is offering. He takes it with utmost seriousness – he does not underestimate an opponent, much less _her_ when she stands five feet away from him, panting none too subtly, studying him carefully, in an hunched position, ready to pounce at the smallest indication that he has dropped his guard. Although he knows this dance all too well, he is not careless - she has been by his side for far too long, his every move mapped in her mind. To her he is predictable and adding to his constant need to rub off on his teammates the importance of _strategy_, he feels bare. She is also motivated, he can feel it as it were flames that surrounded her, burning him – his only advantage is her recklessness and he knows that right now she is fueled by her sour mood. He wants to smirk, just to irk her further, but that action takes too much effort, and when he is draining all of his energy to not lie down underneath the first tree on his sight, he cannot afford to do so. His mind quietly adds that being the one on the receiving end of Ino's wrath is not a smart course of action. He wants nothing more than to put an end to this charade, which has been dragging for too long; half of her is using him to vent and he finds that he lacks the patience to deal with her childish behavior, especially when his other teammate is standing on the side lines looking far too amused for his tastes. _Troublesome._

He sighs, his shoulders heaving as he fights the urge to stuff tensed hands on his pockets. She takes that moment to break from her stance, sprinting towards his figure, cleverly avoiding his moving shadow, without the need to look at it for she can almost _feel_ it. He acknowledges once more how unsuitable they are to fight each other – their justsus are almost as if accessories to something much more significant, lacking their accuracy when used apart. She gains ground on him, intent to engage in physical fight to break the seal he has formed with his expert fingers; for that he is not proud, she is trying to accomplish what she was not trained to do, she has abandoned rationality and believes that she will win based only on willpower. Even if she is reckless, she is smart; she hides in his realm, in the darkness that the trees cast upon the soil below. He hears her – but does not feel her, she has become quite skillful at hiding her chakra, unconsciously showing how fit she is for spying missions – and trails the sound, but she is quick, the noise already coming from behind him but he bids his time; the moment she is no longer concealed by the shade he will finally catch up to her.

He is expecting her to struggle against the hold he will no doubt put on her, the motion followed by a self-indulgent fit as she screams at him even when he turns his back to her, pointedly ignoring her.

However, when she understands that is only a matter of seconds before his shadow drowns on hers and he is still too far away, she stops and drops her kunai, admitting defeat – though he does not voice it, he approves of it. The shadow that was previously pursuing her quickly falls back to its owner as the female grunts in frustration and slumps down to the floor on her back, both arms shielding her face from the weak sunlight. He lazily approaches her with enough mind set so he will not step on her pale ponytail spilling on the dirt all around her.

"You should already know the difference between close and long rage attacks."

She hears his somewhat jabbing words but remains silent; she knows it too well, she is not fitted to use her body in fights, only her mind from a faraway place, tucked in the safety of a hiding, as others have their blood drained by the enemy. She just watches for she is not powerful enough to do more; she is not strong enough to have an honorable death on the battlefield. Still, he cannot blame her for wanting to try, for at least attempt to better herself – even if she does it in a hasty fashion and damning tactics.

He sits down next to her and, absently minded, eyes the expanse of the blue sky tainted with yellow and orange above him; it would have been a good day to watch the clouds instead of wasting time appeasing her – he perhaps could still make something out of it. A bulky shadow approaches them but they do not turn, they are both busy sulking for their own reasons.

"You shouldn't let it get to you, you are not weak."

The shadow is soft-spoken, filled with warm words and worried glances as it also sits next to the pair and becomes something tangible.

"You are just troublesome."

Their answer is a quiet chuckle and amused blue eyes peeking between fair arms. She slowly disentangles herself to bring her arms behind her as support for her to sit up straight. Her gaze jumps from one man to another as if pondering something. Chouji just looks at her expectantly but the mischief in her smile is not lost in him so he shrinks back involuntarily; she catches sign of his anxiety and quickly comes to a decision. Shikamaru hears rather than sees his petite teammate flung herself at the neck of the larger one, his puffed cheek smashed with the force of her action as she kisses him soundly. He doesn't turn to watch but he is sure that a blush covers his face and his brows are furrowed in indecision about whether he enjoyed it or finds it too uncomfortable. The shadow user is next on her brutal assault but he doesn't even flinch as she splatters on his side, arms nearly suffocating him and wet lips make contact with the side of his face, one part of him due to the reason he was already bracing himself for the attack and the other because she is _Ino_ – personal space is something she always dismisses. It ends as soon as it starts for she knows he will not tolerate it longer, not when are other people in the vicinity. She leaps onto her feet, her ponytail dancing with amusement, and she throws them one last smile – this one is apologetic – before turning her back determined to take a lonesome stroll before going home.

After ten steps she comes to a stop upon hearing his voice and words that warm her to the core.

"Oi, Ino! Don't forget about dinner."

He sees her spin around to look at him with surprise written all over her features, azure eyes twinkling with joy and he wonders how she has such a sincere reaction to something that has happened more days than not. His smirk reassures her, making her shyly nod while looking at the ground, hands fidgeting before she resumes her way, and he feels like snorting at her – no matter how much _trouble_ Ino represented, he had never met anyone easier to please.

Now she walks with warmness spreading in her chest, making the simple act of breathing hurtful for it tugs at the remains of her torturous thoughts, and it _aches_ – the warm constricts her heart with easiness and it blends with the cold that grips at her insides, leaving behind a feeling of helplessness while she is being torn. She wants to bask in it, enrapture that sensation in her hands and fill the holes with it, but at the same time she recoils and twists under the pressure of it due to the rawness of her broken self. The thoughts are shoved aside, she has no need for them – she desperately _wants to not need them_ for perhaps then she will finally be strong, she would no longer shed tears that only blurred the vision and clouded the judgment; she prefers to dwell on the outside world, where the sun gingerly penetrates the blooming leaves and there is no sign of storming clouds and harsh rain. Her cerulean eyes are filled with the softening colors of an ending afternoon as the chilled wind caresses the expanse of her bare skin, goose bumps erupting in her arms, and she feasts in the numbness that her physical awareness casts upon her inner turmoil.

She has been so mad, and for such a long time already, that it becomes tiresome; the aftermath leaves her blankly melancholic and she quietly regrets that she unshed it on the people who least deserved it. Nonetheless, she couldn't stop it, not today when the same thoughts that have been eating her away were thrown at her face, voiced by another fellow ninja, words spat in a mocking fashion as they bit into her flesh.

_You are like a doll, only good for décor._

Anko was never known for kindness and she partially understood what was said to her. She stood there in the ample dark office, in front of the scarred face jounin and the lavender haired woman, listening carefully to the rough voice telling her how much she could achieve under his supervision as she tried unsuccessfully to ignore the harsh glance that screamed how unworthy she was to be a part of Konoha's Intelligence Division. She should be proud – she knew that it meant, someone needed to fulfill the gap that her father left behind and she would be trained for that purpose – yet, her gut sank and she fought a grimace at the thought of _her_ replacing him. She would only dishonor his name.

_Think about it._

When she left, he received no answer, however, she had already made a decision – she would only join the division once she was strong enough to truly bear the title of Yamanaka head clan. For the time being she would only focus on finding her own way.

* * *

When the blonde haired kunoichi arrives at the Nara compound, the two other members of Team Ten were already there being lecture by Yoshino about something she doesn't catch_. Probably about being boys_. The older woman flashes a smile and drags her away to the kitchen, flooding her with questions that she doesn't have the time to answer. The taller one sighs with relief at no longer being the center of the dark haired woman's attention but tails them with amusement at the exchange. Shikamaru thinks about wandering around until dinner is ready but something about leaving his mother with Ino makes his skin crawl – the horrendous possibility of them plotting against him – and, defeated, follows the noise.

"That young man should know better than to let you come all the way here alone."

Her voice promised a scolding latter and he makes a note to go home before that happens. Then perhaps tomorrow she will no longer remember; he snorts, fat chance.

"It makes no difference, Yoshino-san, I know my way around."

Her smile intends to be appeasing but the Nara woman does not see it, focusing on her son with a glare. He quietly wonders if he should make a fast retreat when her dark eyes fall back to Ino once more, hard features softening slightly.

"Nonsense, someone has to keep an eye out for you."

His mother is doting her again and he feels conflicted about stopping her – it was no secret that the small kunoichi was like a daughter to the dark haired woman and that the last was the closest thing to a mother figure that Ino had; right now, he could see the sadness in the strained smile on the younger woman face, his mother's fussing a reminder of what she no longer had, however, it lighted up something inside the older one, which resembled a sense of helpfulness. He decides against chastising his mother for her oblivion; in the mists of the pain he is able to see the appreciativeness of being care for so openly – he and Chouji are _men_, their shows of affection are feeble and far between and he makes a mental note to not push her away as much as before, she needs him – _them_.

He slightly wonders if they both feel as empty as him; coming to a silent home, laying on a bed as cold as their bodies, losing themselves on dark and menacing thoughts. He feels guilty that he has left his home at such times, but he cannot withstand his pain and his mothers, he cannot face her when every time she looks at him she only sees her deceased husband. So, he comes, almost every day, to force her to smile even when that smile is rather empty, but he knows that one day it will no longer be as fake as today. He brings Ino along for several reasons – he doesn't want to deal with the older woman, he doesn't want to deal with the feelings he is so arduously suppressing; her presence also brightens the house, warming his mother and himself, but mostly, she is _alone_, only with some distant relatives that don't care enough to pretend they do.

Shikamaru watches as the mind walker earnestly _learns_ another recipe – he knows that no matter how hard she tries to pay attention his mother talks _too much_ and she will forget it as soon as she sits down to eat. She could write it down but she doesn't; she is a good cook, she has been cooking for her father (and then her team) for as long as she can remember, she only likes to indulge Yoshino. Faintly his father words haunt his mind and for the first time he is able to rectify him – it is a little too late but he still perceives it as a victory – a strong minded woman does not only show kindness to the man she loves but to all the people she cares for, that is the secret of her will.

"You should get her to cook for you."

He agrees, his eating habits have become as bad as the ones of the loudest person in the village and although he wants to say that he's just too lazy to cook anything, he fears that even his brilliant mind would face a challenge amongst the kitchen utensils.

When Chouji makes a comment about how manly the shadow user would look with his mother apron he chuckled, noticing how a blonde haired head interestedly turned to the sound. Azure eyes locked with dark brown ones like countless times before yet there was something in her gaze that felt familiar but at the same time foreign – he can't label and he won't, in fear that once a name is put upon it, it will change, but his body answers to it knowingly, his gut dropping and muscles tensing when the look on her face tells him that she _yearns_ for something. He finds himself yearning for something as well – anything in fact – that will slid down his throat, smear his insides and to stop this feeling of helplessness. She recognizes herself in him, he is mirroring her in his gaze and in his mind and she wishes to stretch that insignificant second when she is finally understood. _She feels warm_.

But alas, it lasts only a moment before she quickly transfers her attention to his mother once more hopping that the older woman hadn't noticed their interaction. However, they are both pierced by two pairs of curious eyes wondering what has transpired that made the air so charged. She fidgets under the scrutinizing, a soft shade of pink covering her cheeks, which makes his mother raise an eyebrow at him, a suggestive smirk on her lips and he mentally curses everyone in the room – for what he isn't quite sure.

* * *

Their footfalls are the only sound filling the dark night amongst the empty streets of Konoha as they walk back home. They drop Chouji first, his house the closest to the Nara compound, and the other two elements of Team Tenmake their way to the house above a certain flower shop. They stand side by side, quite close but not touching while the autumn wind picks up around them - she shivers and involuntarily takes a step closer to the warm source to her left; when she bumps into him she eyes the arm that has its end tucked in his pocket and decides to hold onto to it. He feels her fingers wrap around his upper arm, her soft form molding on his, and wonders when he has become familiarized with the burning of her presence and the juts of her body. Her heart beats against him and something in its rhythm makes it impossible for him to erase the present tension in his form – it's uncomfortable but not unwelcomed.

The pair reaches her home far too soon for her liking and she feels a sense of loss when she strays away from him. She isn't eager to open her front door but is only partially linked to her teammate – the house is empty and dark _and silent_.

She turns to his stilled form and throws the first thing she can come up with that will not shatter her pride and thanks the heavens that her tone is not one of childlike anxiety.

"I bet you're dying for me to offer my couch so that you don't have to wait five more minutes to lay your lazy ass ne, _Shika_?"

It comes out with a teasing hue that sweeps beneath his clothes and skin to spread into his gut in the form of heat – almost discrete. He tries to mask his surprise at the sensation under a look of boredom but he knows he fails when she stares back like she did less than two hours ago. There is a crucial dissimilarity, however, there is no one around to hamper the pull that they both feel towards each other and even when they stand in the open air like now, the space seems much constricted than in the occupied kitchen. He audibly swallows, fighting the new found sense of dread and breaks the visual contact with her, ending the moment, replacing it with thick tension. It dissipates instantly when he mumbles a _troublesome woman_ under his breath and the sound of her laugh reaches his ears.

"I'm not going to give you an opportunity to take vengeance on me while I sleep."

She smiles at him and he mimics her expression; her eyes twinkle with the full force of her affection for him – it's obviously in a platonic sense, he notes, that look he has seen a thousand times before and knows how to deal with it.

"Next time I'm gonna wipe the floor with you so beware, you lazy bum!"

His unconscious rejection doesn't hurt as much as it should and she takes a deep breath bracing herself while facing the door. He watches her back for a while more, waiting patiently for her to disappear from his vision, tucked away from harm's path – _someone has to keep an eye on her_, he remembers. She doesn't look back at him and he doesn't expect it either so he resumes his way. Although a feeling of loss creeps up on his mind he squashes it – today he had to deal with _too_ many people for an extended period of time, his tolerance was running on dangerous levels. Solitude was exactly what he needed right now even if it was not what he wanted.

* * *

She seeks him today as well, he is swamped in work but she finds him when he is ably dodging it under a tree. He agrees to entertain her only after being subject to malicious blackmail and making her promise that she will hold her temper. Although she is quick to answer and throws him a sincere smile, he knows better but sighs defeated while following her to Kami knows where. He doesn't ask either, he can tell by the determinate look in her eyes that she is going to attempt what she promised him last night. She will probably be true to it as well – he has no inclination to move or to resist her attacks, and maybe then she will give up on bothering him.

He doesn't abide her due to laziness and she takes it to heart.

She tries – hard – yet it seems that she can't stop the words that anger him the most. Perhaps it's not the words per se but the hateful expression that she sports while doing so. The hatred is not directed at him, he should now that, but he is tired of it – of her, of his village, of everyone, of himself.

It has been years since they fought like this – maybe it shouldn't be called a fight, they barely said anything, however, the glares are heated and speak volumes; they always had their share of friction, especially in the Academy days, but then they would ignore each other jabs most of the time, not paying sufficient attention to care. Even when they were placed in the same team, the two of them not quite happy with the event, and they already knew each other enough to find which buttons to push to get a reaction, they easily fell into a light comradeship, honed by years of forced interaction.

However this, it was unusual. To have Ino scream at him, or anyone, it was a daily occurrence, but to have her looking at _him_ with controlled loathing in her gaze was something completely foreign.

"_Unlike_ you, I care about the people around me and actually want to do something about it, other than being a coward!"

"Then perhaps you should stop bitching and really _do_ something, instead of just worrying about your goddamn hair."

He wants to turn around and walk away but something twisted inside of him takes pleasure in watching her face distort with anger at his words. He believes that he has the same expression as her and fights to keep himself grounded – he does not want to unleash on her the feelings he has been piling up but lately she has been trying his limits and he almost doesn't care that the person in front of him is _Ino_. The sick feeling turns to guilt as soon as her eyes clear and she sees him for who he is – her long life friend, her teammate, her _captain_ – and her features fall, the sadness blatantly shinning for him to see.

"I'm sorry, Shikamaru, I didn't mean to…"

Her voice is a whisper almost lost in the wind whilst she turns to leave; this scenery is unnatural; actually, when was the last time he felt any of the situation was normal?

She wants to cry, she feels so stupid – _stupid, stupid little girl!_ – he has been doing more than required; he is Shikamaru, he has no interest in training, in fighting, in putting up with her. Yet, he still does it, always the diligent soldier. Sometimes she thinks that is out of pity, the poor _princess_ that no longer has her dearest _dragon,_ tossed away in the middle of the vicious knights. Other times she knows he does it out of understanding, dark eyes burning with the feelings he so carefully hides but occasionally becomes too much, like the day they came back to Konoha, raw and broken from war, when he patted her head as she shamelessly cried, tucking her underneath his chin, covering his own tears. However, mostly, it is out of duty, not only for she is his teammate but because he's a _Nara_ and she a _Yamanaka_.

She makes her way home, she wants to hide away in the voiding that it represents – she deserves it, she has to live with it. She still has her two precious friends and she takes that for granted, trampling on them with the hopes of feeling better. She has to stop before that is no longer true, she has to fucking grow up before they _grow_ tired of her, before they sway away to build their own lives instead of holding up hers.

She is filled with the bittersweet warm of nostalgia and her hands crave for something that she's not sure it's palpable. She takes the photo album, which is the only logical object to soothe her anxiety – it does not assuage her, though, but it makes her hold her breath as she feels the weight of it (in so many perspectives) and, as long as she doesn't breath, it doesn't hurt. When she opens it, the smell of old pages coats her mind, bringing her further onto lost memories and force her to gasp for air due to the lump that has formed in the vicinity of her throat – _it hurts again_. The tip of her fingers brush along the yellowish paper, eyes burning with ghostly familiar faces as she wonders _how the hell everything became so twisted_ to the point that even her own is amongst them; she can no longer associate that innocent blonde haired girl to the one that stares at her through the reflection of every mirror, and that scares her. Ocean blue eyes sweep over one picture that is not as faded as the most of them and she stops – she is must sure that for a millisecond so did her heart.

_Asuma._

She drinks in the contours of his tanned face but only as refreshment for she remembers it quite well; his smell accompanies the fond reminiscence of his smile, a mix of tobacco, sweat and pine. His voice, however, sounds distant and foggy, like a fleeting dream, and she knows that it won't take much time for her to forget it completely. Ino feels like weeping, it's the ultimate betrayal – one's mind does not forget what is important; he will soon fade from her mind and, eventually, she will only be able to recall the expressions that were captured into vivid pictures. Her heart clenches brutally, causing her to almost double over, when the thought of the same happening to her father's memories assaults her. She shuts her lids tight while playing his voice over and over in her head, lounging in what might be the last time she hears it so clearly.

_Ino, princess_.

Longing for what you no longer have is _not knowing_: not knowing what to do with the days that have become longer, not knowing what chores will hush your rutted thoughts and not knowing how to fill out the deafening silence that envelop your life. Ino feels like that – she does not know what to do from now on.

The old album is carefully rested on the dark nightstand, the photos covered from the world but especially from her vision. The sorrow is quickly replaced by repulsion at her weak self; she wasn't strong enough to save Asuma, she wasn't strong enough to stop her father from being attacked and now she wasn't strong enough to pick herself up and set off, to be _finally strong enough_ – she just dragged her body throughout the endless days mourning her losses, not even trying to lick her wounds. She will change that, she will hone her mind, her body, her resolve; she will no longer be feeble, her resolution rested upon the cold and harsh Memorial Stone, when the words are etched on it, not even the wind nor the rain will erase it.

Words whispered in her ear, mockingly, soothing her, coaxing her to follow them; she recalled the impish glint reflected in the snake mistress eyes full of promises of what she so desperately needed to achieve and she succumbs to it.

That night she made a decision that would drastically change her life.

* * *

Reviews, please! Even if you think you don't have anything nice to say, critics are very much appreciated.

Do you think that the characters are OOC?


	2. Chapter 2

I know this one is smaller but I promise to make up for it on the next one – longer and hopefully quicker to update.

Hope you enjoy it!

* * *

It's going to rain. He knows this not because he's a genius or for spending too much time studying the shape, size, color and speed of his beloved clouds. No, it's simply due to the fact that the sky looks like it's about to fall down in a rumble grayish veracity. Watching his white celling would have been ideal, yet, he is restless.

He is not sure if he's the one searching for Chouji or if he comes to him willingly. Unrelatedly, the company is offered and he accepts it keenly. He follows and is met by the older version of his friend in a familiar environment reeking of sake and bursting with drunken laughter. He sits whilst eyeing the liquor thoughtfully, deciding that it wouldn't hurt. It's almost laughable the picture they present – the trio it's not the same as it should be, they are lacking one Yamanaka and him is a pitiable replacement for the head of the Nara's. It's probably what makes the beverage taste so bitter. In the background he hears the rough voice of the older man but he does not make the words out. He doesn't want to either.

Maybe he was brooding.

"Boy, what has your pants twisted in a knot?"

"He had a fight with Ino."

"Oh"

The older one answers absently minded but it seems that it catches up with him seconds later and his face lights up with surprise.

"_Oh_, I didn't know you were dating."

"We're _not_ dating, Old man."

By his side the younger Akimichi muttered something under his breath that sounded awfully like _not yet_.

He couldn't conceal the shock at the idea of him and _Ino_ together, no matter how many times it was insinuated. There was just something absurd about the concept, which made him wonder how other people simply did not see it for what it was – especially Chouji, he had been with them for an entire lifetime. They didn't match - in whatever twisted universe he could imagine. She wasn't what he wanted – whether it was physically or psychologically speaking, too bossy, too loud, _too beautiful_. And surely, he was not what she desired – Ino spurred on feelings, on love, she breathed on it, feasted on it, lived on it, and he didn't prize romantic affection – he didn't get it.

It was some kind of prejudgment; people love what they need, what makes them feel better, love what is convenient. How could you say you loved someone when there are thousands more people in the world that you would love more if you knew them? That's why relationships were so void of whatever it was that they should be spilling with.

The flesh covers the bones and a mind is put unearthed it – occasionally some resemble of a soul. And women throw plates against the walls in anger and men drink themselves to oblivion and nobody finds their ideal match but still they go on, crawling in and out of their days. The flesh covers the bones and the flesh seeks much more than mere flesh. Actually, there is no chance, we are all bounded to a singular destiny – even if the word filled him with repulse of _not controlling_ the situation. Graveyards are completed, nothing else is [1].

All the same, everyone needs a loophole – he is no exception; the hours are long and they need to be completed in some way until his end knocks on the door. Plainly, there is not much sense of glory and _feelings_ that does the trick – especially for him, he never did mind those, to some level he thinks that he's not able to have them.

"What the hell, Chouji?!"

His best friend keeps quiet and endures the extent of his glare, returning a knowing look that irks him. He vaguely wants to tell him that despite of how strongly he feels about her it's not _passion_ – or love or whatever name is put upon it – but giving him a verbal answer would no doubt make him explore the degree of their relationship; a voice whispers to him how dangerous it could be and he unconsciously agrees with it.

Chouji just stares back, no trace of amusement in his kind face, only seriousness and furrowed eyebrows. He also wants to tell the shadow user things that he keeps to himself; how he sees his best friends drowning and sinking along the lines of forged normalcy, fighting to keep together the shattered promises and unsaid words that they left behind. And he can't do anything – he does not understand their pain and for the first time in many, many years he feels that they are _no longer_ Ino-Shika-Chou, not for now, anyways. There is just her and him, but no Chouji in their despair. They keep him at bay, blinding him about their cruel fortune, and he is not happy – nor is he mad, it's an ambiguous chaos, he is not sure if he wants to take part in it. But they recognize each other; he knows that now he has no right to stand beside them, so he sees it as only a matter of time. She is Ino and he is Shikamaru – they are contradictorily compatible.

Still, Shikamaru thinks about the restless sense he has about not seeing that pale long hair and tantalizing evil smirk the past few days. He categories it as worry – he too was affected by war, by the meaningless killing and crude losses; hasn't he lost enough? So he obliviously fears for them – his friends, his partners – not only for them, but for himself as well. There is only so much that he can keep bottled up.

True to be told he is not mad at her – was he ever? He understands her frustration, he has felt it many times before, not being good enough, ruminate on the thoughts that perhaps if he was things would be different. He was the one fighting besides Asuma when he was fatally wounded, _so he knows_. And he fathoms how heartbreaking it must be for her, to lose everything and still sporting kind, pure intentions – it's a vicious cycle and he wishes she would break free from it – more the tragedy, the more benevolent she is . He is far from mad, but he does not find the desire – or is it courage? She accused him of it, and righteously so – to go to her, to let her lean on the strength that he no longer has.

A weird realization of how meaningless his pretense is hits him; he doesn't really care – it's _Ino,_ she doesn't care either, it's not as if she _wants_ him to fix her, that is what he wants, she just wants him there. At least is what he reasons she feels for is what he feels as well.

The sake is left behind when he feels almost claustrophobic by the sudden need to watch clouds. It's more of a therapeutic occupation than poisoning his mind with a toxic haze. It's a pity that the sky is impregnated in them – there's too much to look at and he gets lost. So he stays; for a while longer only.

* * *

It rains. It's not in a _pouring the sky_ way but the droplets are fat and chilling, the soil already soaked to the core, ceding under her feet with a slow wet cadence. Another tremor arises in her aching muscles and shakes her little form but she does not stop in her movement. Her hands are covered in dirt but so is the rest of her body so it makes no difference. She does not mind it – nor the damp clothes and the ongoing rainfall, even if she is chilled to the bone – not when her task it's so pressing that her work is almost sloppy. She pulls another weed and it cuts her fingers were countless ones did before, without breaking the skin.

Maybe it's because she is so lost in her own distorted world that she loses control over her chakra, or maybe it's because she is so frantic and so wanting that the only thing she feels are her numb fingers and legs, or any other reason that would encourage someone to invade her home in the mist of the beginning of a storm, but all she knows is that Sakura is at her garden's back door bemused at whatever she is doing on her knees while sunk in the mud and drenched to the bone. Ino nearly tries to explain but she can't find her breath and when she does the same urgency assaults her once more. She resumes her work even when the medic ninja's harsh voice rips through the wind pinched with poorly concealed apprehension.

"What the hell are you doing, Pig, burying bodies?!"

_No_, she wants to answer, she is burying nightmares and burning guilt. However, it's not working – the more she tugs at wild sprouts, the more she hates herself for disregarding what her father loved only second to her. She can't help it if it hits her when she looked out of her window while musing about the weather. That was in the morning – she had no idea how much time passed, the sky was as dark as before.

Sakura looms over her and the rain ceases; it takes more than a moment to understand the reason for it – it's an umbrella. She touches her arm, almost warily, tugging her up when the blonde doesn't flinch at the contact.

"Come on, you'll get yourself sick."

She is led to the inside of the flower shop, both feminine forms lost in the greyish darkness of it before Sakura finds the light switch. Right then, she flinches – not only due to the sudden brightness but because it also shows aging plants and accumulated dust _and she is ashamed_. There is a grimace twisting the delicate contours of the rosy haired ninja that in addition to the fog that swirls in the depths of those impossible green eyes that raised her from her trance. She wants to wipe that expression, it does not suit her – she is also disgusted by the shining concern, it's not as she needs it _now_.

"What are you doing here, _Sakura_?"

The lack of her _endearment_ spoke volumes about her withering patience.

"Preventing you from drowning out there!"

"It's barely raining."

She ignores the way her question was sidestepped.

Sakura is as careful as she is observant; she tiptoes around Ino in hopes to achieve answers to unvoiced questions – _Are you alright? Can I make it better? _She knows what the blonde will say, she just has to look hard enough to understand if the words will be truthful.

"Should I ask how you're holding up, Pig?"

She pauses. She isn't expecting such boldness; regardless, the reply is the same as if it would come as no surprise.

"I'm fine. Stop worrying, it's annoying."

"Yeah, it sure looks like it."

"If it's all, I would like to not be subjugated to your ugly forehead any longer."

The words are followed by a slightly smirk of victory and a familiar air of jabbing playfulness, nevertheless she is eyed with suspicion. When the medic female remains rooted in her stop, clearly unconvinced, she presses once more.

"Seriously, you worry too much. No wonder it's so damned huge."

Sakura wants to say so much; _I'm here, you know_ should be a good start, however, she chokes on the words and nothing comes out. It's an odd scene and she feels misplaced – Ino stands before her soaked in what might as well be tears, soft smirk on her lips and a barely glint of recognition in azure eyes – perhaps the time that they were best friend was in another life; possibly, the time when she didn't need to know what to say because she was the one that required support has ended – Ino is so far away now that it seems that Sakura was the one left behind. Ino is no longer Ino, no more indulging in childish rivalry to spite her, but proudly standing alongside with her fated teammates. The key word is _alongside_, not like herself, always behind.

And perhaps it hurts a little bit – she is being dismissed, not because Ino doesn't want to be with anyone at the moment, but because she is not Chouji or Shikamaru. Sakura is placed upon a category of fellow ninja and once a friend, so she doesn't go out of her way to tease her just to be noticed – she passes by, acknowledge hers and, in the end, always walks away laughing with someone at something that does not involve her.

So she leaves.

* * *

Sakura would have been the obvious choice for something like this. The idea of letting the pink haired kunoichi know that she felt that she needed to train, however, repulsed her – more than that, to sink as low as to ask her to be the one to train with her just didn't sit right with the young mind walker. The rosette was not weak per se, she wasn't that strong, either; she may have a brutal attack but other than that her skills in combat were poor – _not as poor as hers_, she bristles. So, she goes to the one person that will indulge – she had no courage to deny anyone – and to be patient and mindful of her limitations: _Hinata_. She could go to Lee, he would be more than happy to be helpful, but she had a feeling that she would be dead before sundown.

She runs into her and almost laughs at how easy it is to coax her in a trip of self-guilt - she should feel bad but she doesn't, she is past feeling anything at all.

If she handed her ass on a plate to the female Hyuuga in front of her it would be less humiliating; nevertheless, she swallows her pride and focuses on her, watching as she graciously falls back to an offensive position, repeating once again the flows of the _kata_ that she should be following. She is grateful, and slightly envious of her strength and character, so she drinks in her movements determinate to catch every subtle shift of limbs. Dirt crumbles underneath precise feet and long black hair tails the lithe body in slow motion – she has grown so much that for a millisecond Ino is reminded of Neji. The illusion softly fades when she ends her demonstration and faces her with a hesitant smile. She smiles back – it's a bitter one, it tastes like acid in her tongue but she gulps it down – she was not the only one to lose loved ones, so when Hinata stands before her eager to please and help, she understands that she has no right to be frozen in time, begrudging and cursing every single person that crossed her thoughts. Her resentment towards herself enlightens new inspiration and she pounces.

It's a deadly dance she is committing to memory, in her mind and body: _an open palm blow, left elbow following, right leg takes a step back, left leg up, left sidestep, right arm block_ – and it goes on. She doesn't falter this time, therefore, Hinata is beaming. A moment later she finds that the expression is mimicked on her own flushed face – _she feels good, _even if the attacks are softly delayed. It's a blur of long clashing hairs and limbs.

It comes to an end; the shy kunoichi exudes an air of finality and she obliges – she is not tired, but she catches the glance the other throws at the place behind her shoulder from where she feels a warm chakra. She doesn't want to keep him waiting, only sparing the time to earnestly thank the female before her, _and it's a moment too long_.

When she turns to face him, she is still brightening with the same smile. He eyes that particular fact with approval.

He has come to her, lured by her inevitable presence, fluttering wild at the farthest limits of his perception. She comes to him, enticed by his overbearing shadowed presence, pulsating rhythmically in the background of her awareness. It's also a dance – as deadly as the one before, at least to her, at least to him.

"You done?"

He watches her nod, also absorbing him without hesitance or shame – it makes him slightly restive; however, it's not the same feeling that has plagued him in the last days, it rouses another breed of tightness in the vicinity of his chest – this one he understands even less.

"Come."

She can keep count of how many orders he has given her, it's such an erratic occurrence that she can't stop herself from following – unless they are the type that beg to be disrespected, _the stay back_ kind. He turns around, displaying the way he intends to go on. She takes a step towards him, momentarily halting because he seems to be expecting something; she knows, for he has also stopped and is looking at her, dark brown eyes glinting undecipheringly. She is not sure what gives him away, perhaps it's their nature – he's Shikamaru and she's Ino, they have their sort of twisted sense of telepathy – so she instinctively knows, even if what he's asking is so damned uncharacteristic and she is so damned filthy. Regardless, she takes his arm, gluing herself to his side and he doesn't shy away from her touch, he rather eases in it – despite the fact that Hinata is still in the training ground.

He feels her warm slipping away from him only when they reach Konoha's busy streets but she is yet close enough to brush her arm against him – he is thankful for it, however, he would have said nothing if she hadn't so. It's her turn to keep quiet when his hand skims her own accidentally once and deliberately one more time. It's an assurance, it's a lifeline – they're both still there, they're both still warm, therefore, still alive. He has no _need_ to touch her physically, his shadow squirms around her and he can feel the call of her mind faintfully in the back of his head, and that's all he requires to know. Ino is another story, though – even if she calls out to him, he is not able to answer back; she doesn't possess an almost omnipotent shadow, either. So it comes as no surprise when her index finger curls around the middle of his pinky.

* * *

[1] – adapted from Charles Bukowski (isn't he magnificent?)

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